


Count to Ten

by cagedchaos



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Bad Writing, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagedchaos/pseuds/cagedchaos
Summary: Yifan's peaceful life as an engaged language professor is interrupted when news of the death of his father, the head of an illegal organization, reaches its competitors, and Yifan suddenly finds himself with a price on his head.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [yifantasy2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/yifantasy2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Yixing is a hired gun, somebody who goes to kill the people he's assigned to. He has never had any problems until his fiancé's name is the one he's been given to assassinate next.

Zhang Yixing cringes visibly as the heavy lecture hall door gives a loud protest, the building’s old age announcing itself through its rusty hinges. When he’s through the doorframe, he contemplates a quick moment to just hold the door open to avoid a second round of the offensive and piercing sound but the noise outside the lecture hall is already making the back row of students turn around to glare at him. He mouths a silent apology and holds the door to keep it from slamming, grimacing when it screeches closed. Several students grant him the luxury of condescending looks but everyone in the back row eventually turn back to face the front where their professor is pointing to some quote on the screen in a foreign language.

Yixing can’t help the grin that creeps onto his face as he watches his fiancé repeatedly push his glasses up his nose throughout his lecture, arms gesturing unnecessarily as he has a habit of doing when he talks. Yixing has to clear his throat to cover up a chuckle at a particularly grandiose fling of the hand as he finds a space on the back wall to lean against as he waits for the lecture to end.

While Yixing does _thoroughly_ enjoy listening to his fiancé speak in a foreign language, he’s glad he’s timed his arrival only ten minutes before the class is dismissed; he’s already starting to lose focus in the stuffy auditorium, nodding off in the final minutes before the sound of rustling papers and laptops being slammed shut as the class packs up jolts him awake. A handful of students in the first couple of rows stand up immediately to hurry to their professor’s desk, a couple of them blushing when he smiles at them. “Can’t blame ‘em,” Yixing mumbles to himself, reminding himself that his jealousy has no basis as he takes a vacated seat in the back row, almost a hundred meters from the podium at the front of the room, properly concealed by the broken overhead light. Yixing leans forward, resting his arms onto the back of the seat in front of him as he waits for the last student to finish and then Yifan to bend over his desk to gather his things.

“Excuse me, Professor Wu?” Yixing calls out after a minute, trying to contain his amusement when his fiancé looks up abruptly in surprise, his glasses sliding down his nose once more. “If you have a moment, I have a question about today’s lecture,” he continues, his voice echoing back to himself in the now empty auditorium.

It takes Wu Yifan awhile to recognize Yixing’s voice and he grins when he finally finds the latter seated in his audience. He clears his throat a second later and attempts to straighten his expression, bringing his arms up to fold across his chest, another dramatic gesture that draws a smile on Yixing’s face. “I might have a couple minutes to spare before I have to be somewhere.”

“Well,” Yixing starts, getting to his feet and starting down the aisle towards Yifan, “I have this quote that I heard someone say in Russian once, and I was hoping you could translate for me,” he explains before spewing a string of nonsense he knows isn’t Russian as he walks out of the row of seats and down the aisle towards Yifan. He stops just short of the first row of seats, trying for a look that an interested student might wear.

A single eyebrow rises into Yifan’s forehead before he rolls his eyes, “That’s not even remotely close to Russian and this is a class for _Italian_ , Xing,” he chides before his hands come down again to resume packing. “Shouldn’t an international businessmen have a better grasp of languages?”

“Okay, well either way, it sounds like gibberish to me,” Yixing feigns a scowl, knowing he can’t admit that he’s fluent in both those languages. “Okay, no, but seriously, I have a question for you.”

Yifan lets out an audibly annoyed sigh, but looks up from his bag, “If you are going to try to ask me out in Italian, please spare me the embarrassment of being engaged to an idiot and just ask me in Chinese.”

Yixing frowns at having his plans dashed so easily and so heartlessly, “That’s not fair. You’re such a spoil sport. How can you teach the language of love and not be romantic?”

Yifan scowls as he shoulders his bag and walks towards Yixing, “Okay, first, _French_ is the language of love, not Italian,” he corrects, kissing the latter quickly before taking his hand and heading towards the exit together. “And second, when have you ever been in one of my lecture halls where you didn’t end up asking me out on a date?”

“Touché,” Yixing concedes, recalling the first time he’d accidentally found himself in one of Yifan’s lectures. He’d just completed an assignment and had ducked into the nearest building for a nap, only to wake surrounded by a bunch of first years. He had a moment of confusion before realizing he was in a _class_ for Italian, not actually Italy.

Yifan flashes a told-you-so look, holding the door open for Yixing, “So? Where are we going to eat? I really hope you were asking me out to dinner, because I’m starving.”

“Well, I was thinking we could eat in tonight,” Yixing suggests, recalling his latest assignment; it is probably best to avoid being out in public.

“Mmm, home cooked dinner from hubby, I suppose I can make do,” he exaggerates, laughing when Yixing uses the hand that’s not entwined with Yifan’s to smack the latter over the head, “I got a couple things left to do at the office though. I’ll meet you back home?”

Yixing contemplates for a minute, unsure that he should let Yifan out of his sight for the next couple of hours but he takes a deep breath decisively, “Yeah, sure. I go grab some groceries then.” He tries to cover up his discomfort with a cough but Yifan gives him a funny look anyway.

“You okay?” the professor asks, concern traced into his features.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, it’s nothing, I’m just a little distracted with work stuff,” Yixing mumbles in response; at least it isn’t a lie. "I'm fine," he assures Yifan who continues to look worried.

Yifan gives Yixing a last glance but dismisses any lingering doubt he might’ve had. "Alright then, I guess I'll see you back home then," he says before giving Yixing another kiss and turning to head towards his office on the other side of campus.

Yixing lets out a sigh as he watches the retreating figure of Yifan disappear around a school building and he waits until the latter has long gone before he turns to leave himself.

~*~

When Yifan finally makes it back to his office and closes his door, he lets out a long sigh, collapsing into the couch with a huff. His bag falls to his side, forgotten as he stares up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer he can keep lying; he doesn’t actually have anything pressing to do in his office, but he needs a few minutes to organize his thoughts. He brings his phone up in front of him, frowning at the number of new messages he's received from his father's colleagues before swiping away all the notifications without reading them, only to have another come in. He groans upon seeing who the sender is and contemplates turning off his phone completely just to have it stop vibrating with notifications before a message from Yixing makes him stop. _"You love fish, right?"_ it reads before the sender shoots him another message with a joking winky emoticon.

Yifan can't help the grin that takes place over his frown and he returns the mockery with a "Only if it’s really really really spicy and we keep the head" to which he receives a frowny face.

The professor pulls himself upright again, scowling as the phone in his hand vibrates once more, its screen revealing yet another message for his father’s right hand man (or _former_ right hand man, Yifan supposes). Yifan switches the phone screen off, shoving the phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands upright once more. With a deep inhale, Yifan takes a moment to straighten the shirt underneath his sweater vest before he shoulders his bag once more, making up his mind; he is not going to be the reason one who ends this engagement because of this silly lie.

Yifan drives the entire distance home gripping the wheel so tight that it turns his knuckles white. He barely manages to recognize two red lights and he runs the third, the loud honk that follows finally waking him from his trance.

His phone has already been turned to ‘silent’ and by the time Yifan has parked, it’s full of notifications again. He swallows hard as he dismisses all of them without a second glance and turns the device off completely. It’s an effort to put on a smile but he does his best anyway as he steps out of his car and towards the elevators out of the parking garage.

Yifan opens the door to the apartment to find the familiar scene of Yixing staring quizzically at the stove and the smile on his face finally feels real. “What’s wrong?” he asks as he closes the door behind him. “Forget if you put salt already?”

Yixing turns to give him a scathing look and Yifan can’t help but laugh out loud when he realizes that he’s hit the nail right on the head. “Shut up,” Yixing grumbles before he turns back to whatever it is on the stove that’s making Yifan’s stomach grumble.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it anyway,” Yifan tries to comfort through a chuckle as he tosses the keys into the bowl in the center of their table.

“It doesn’t. That just tells me that you are in the habit of lying to me,” Yixing retorts sending Yifan a quick glare before he turns again to attend to his meal.

Yifan freezes at the comment that was intended to be harmless, and the smile that almost made him feel normal again is wiped from his face as he’s reminded of his phone and all the ignored messages.

Yixing seems to notice the silence and he turns to face Yifan with a look of concern, “You okay?” His soft tone makes Yifan’s chest clench; he doesn’t deserve the worry that’s making his fiancé’s forehead fold into itself like that.

“I…” he starts, his voice trembling nervously, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Yixing takes a minute to process the statement before moving a couple steps towards Yifan, obvious concern in his gaze. “What’s going on?”

Yifan reviews all the options on starting this conversation that were running through his head during his drive home but none of them seem to sound right so instead, he blurts out, almost uncontrollably, “My father’s dead.”

There’s a slight raise of Yixing’s eyebrow in alarm but he doesn’t seem to be able to come up with anything to say. Yifan doesn’t blame him; Yifan’s never really been one to talk about his family, and why would he? His father is a criminal and his mother is… well, he doesn’t even know who his mother is (or was). Yixing has asked in the past, but Yifan has never offered up a proper response, always changing the topic immediately. It never seemed to pose too much of a problem though, given how Yixing was orphaned at a very young age; the two were planning a wedding with the assumption that there would be no family, only friends.

“I’m sorry,” Yixing manages after a brief moment and Yifan finds the other’s face twisted into something he can’t quite grasp.

“No, don’t be,” Yifan reassures, shaking his head and taking Yixing’s hand in his own, “He and I… we haven’t spoken in years; we weren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

The vague explanation only seems to make Yixing frown deeper, “He was still your father.”

Yifan’s lips press together into a thin line, trying to recall the last time he ever addressed Mr. Li as _his father_. “That isn’t what I needed to talk to you about,” he deflects, trying to figure out a way to deliver his information without scaring Yixing away; they’ve recovered from a lot of fights, but he’s not sure how Yixing’s going to react to knowing his lover is the son of a Dragon Head, the leader of a gang that has roots well beyond only this country. “You’re going to want to sit down,” he suggests, pulling out the seat beside him.

~*~

Yixing stares blankly at Yifan when the latter finally finishes. Yixing can’t decide what he should be saying right now though he’s fairly certain he should act stunned by the revelation. “Uhm,” he manages, not sure how to continue.

“I understand if you hate me.”

Yixing’s instinct is to reach out and find a way to wipe that tortured look off Yifan’s face. His second instinct is to tell Yifan that that there is no possible way that he could ever hate him, given that he’s known _this whole time_ who Yifan really is.

Only _that_ will reveal who _Yixing_ is and there’s nothing that can fix how that will forever change the way Yifan looks at him.

“I… I need some air,” Yixing says instead, hating how those words seem to send an invisible knife into Yifan but he needs some time to organize his thoughts. He resists the urge to hang back, to tell Yifan that this isn’t his fault, and forces his feet to move him out the front door.

He forgets he’s still wearing the apron until he’s all the way downstairs and the security guard at the front desk calls his attention to it, giving him a concerned look as he watches Yixing struggle out of it and then throw it angrily into the nearly garbage can.

~*~

Yifan swallows hard as he watches Yixing leave, staring at the closed door long after Yixing shut it behind him as though by some miracle, it might open again with Yixing telling him that it doesn’t matter that Yifan’s technically next in line to run a massive, and very illegal, gang syndicate.

The stench of something burning is what breaks Yifan’s fixation on the door and he stands up quickly to turn the stove off, removing the pan from the element with his bare hands before pain shooting up his arm reminds him that it’s a _metal handle._ He grabs a wet towel immediately, cursing profusely at his own clumsiness before he lets the tears fall.

He’s not entirely sure they’re from the throbbing of nerve endings in his hand.

~*~

Yixing returns late at night to a deathly quiet apartment and he makes his way to the bedroom, taking deliberate steps. Yifan has the blankets pulled up to his chin and his form under the blankets makes it obvious that he’s curled up into himself tighter than usual. Yixing moves to his side of the bed but can’t bring himself to climb in; he doesn’t belong there anymore. The moonlight streaming into the room illuminates Yifan’s face and Yixing feels like he’s been punched in the gut when he realizes that there are dried streaks across Yifan’s face that trace towards a wet mark on the pillow.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as his knees weaken and he takes a seat on the bed, careful not the jostle Yifan as he watches him sleep. He resists the urge to reach out to the other and balls his hand into tight fists in his lap.

Yixing has never been religious; it would probably make doing his job _very_ difficult and taxing on his soul if he had one. If he _was_ religious though, right now would be about the right time to be asking whatever higher power there was up there why he is in this situation.

Yixing has known who Yifan was since the first day they met, even though the latter dislikes talking about his family. Yixing can't blame the scholar, really; it's hard to lead a normal life if everyone around you knows that you're the son of a Triad leader, especially if you're not choosing to lead the same kind of life as your father. Yifan defaults to silence whenever anyone asks about his family and Yixing has learned not to breach the topic; he knows everything there is to know anyway.

Asking the clumsy professor out on a date started as simple reconnaissance, _unassigned_ reconnaissance at that. Yixing’s employer never put in a request that he get close to the only known bloodline to the great Master Li but Yixing wanted to know for himself. Long story short, getting engaged to Wu Yifan was _not_ in his plan.

And yet here he is, faced with the decision of disobeying his employer of almost thirteen years or killing the man he loves.

Yixing supposes he deserves this. After all, it's his own damn fault for letting this act get as far as it has. It’s just that being with Yifan helps him forget himself, forget that he was taken in as a child by the _Huang_ family and raised to become their own little "fixer", killing anyone that stood in the way of the Family's limitless ambitions. Though, determined as the Huang’s were, they never would have chanced going after a Family as great as the Li's but the death of the enemy’s leader only two days ago has made them vulnerable and now, Yixing has been assigned to kill the only known heir to weaken the Li's further.

A hum echoes in the room and Yixing scrambles to get up from the bed lest the vibrating phone wakes Yifan. ' _Is it done yet?'_ is all the message says.

Yixing swallows hard as he bends a knee to reach for the gun that has been stowed on the underside of the bed since the couple moved in. The sound causes Yifan to stir and Yixing squeezes his eyes tightly closed, counting to ten and taking a deep breath before he opens them again. He takes care not to rouse the other as he stands up once more.

The gun feels like lead in his hand and Yixing hates that he can still hold the cold metal so steady as he lifts it to point at Yifan, swallowing hard when the click of the hammer locking into place rings indefinitely in his ears.

~*~

Yifan never sleeps well when he knows Yixing is upset and he catches only a couple hours in total, here and there throughout the night.  He stares at the empty ceiling now, watching the shadow of the tree branches outside the window dance on the surface, the form of the Reaper flickering in and out of existence. He takes in a deep breath, reminding himself that it’s _just tree branch shadows_ before he gets up, opting to head to the kitchen to warm a glass of milk; he’s never been as good as Yixing at it though, but he likes it to the alternative of digging through his medicine cabinet for some sleeping pills.

Yifan reaches around on the bedside table for his glasses before he gets up, stumbling to the kitchen as he rubs his tired eyes under his glasses. His hand scrambles along the wall until he feels the light switch; over a year in this place and yet Yifan still has trouble finding it.

Yifan nearly jumps when his eyes adjust to the bright light and he finds Yixing sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at something that Yifan can’t see. “I… I didn’t think I was going to see you again,” he says, voice cracking as he starts towards the other.

There’s a clatter from an unrecognizable source and silence falls in the apartment for the time it takes Yifan to realize that it’s a gun, a gun that’s sitting on the table with Yixing’s hand resting on it.

Yifan can’t decide what he feels at the sight of the weapon at this moment. He knows he should probably be fearful of it (he’s never seen one in real life), but the only potential fear he carries is of the possibility that Yixing is going to leave again. He should also feel happy that Yixing even came back because God knows, Yifan himself might not have if their roles were reversed. Maybe he should feel angry, because Yixing _knows_ how Yifan feels about guns and to bring one into their home…

But mostly, Yifan feels an overwhelming curiosity, because of all the scenarios he’d run of Yixing coming back, _this_ was definitely not one of them.

“You think that’s going to keep them from trying to recruit me?” Yifan asks, trying to keep his voice light as he gauges the situation. “You even know how to use that thing?” he laughs uneasily.

Yixing turns to face him, expression blank as he holds his gaze trained on Yifan, while his hands work deftly at pulling apart the unrecognizable components of the weapon, the metal falling to the table in a useless heap. “Yeah, I do actually,” Yixing replies robotically with eyes still fixed on Yifan as he empties the bullets from the magazine one by one with his thumb.

Yifan swallows hard as he stares at the bullets falling harmlessly on the ground and rolling away. When he looks back up, Yixing’s expression is still just as blank and unreadable but now Yifan can feel the fear creeping in. “What the hell is this?”

“You were afraid of your dad’s goonies trying to recruit you when you should’ve been afraid of me instead,” Yixing answers, though it’s less robotic now, with maybe a tinge of… regret? Guilt? Whatever it is, it’s accented with a long sigh, “I’ve known who you are from day one, _Li Jiaheng_.”

Yifan flinches openly at his birth name, having changed it voluntarily the instant he turned eighteen to distance himself when he left his father’s home for the last time. “How do you know that name?”

“I know a lot of things,” Yixing answers vaguely, “Including how the Li’s biggest rival is the Huang’s, who are going to take advantage of the vulnerability of the Li Corporation following the death of their Dragon Head to cripple them further by taking out the only known blood heir.” His tone makes him sound bored, tired even.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Yifan retorts, unfamiliar with everything that just came out of Yixing’s mouth save for the ‘Li Corporation’.

“It means that you’ve got a price tag on your head, you idiot,” Yixing snaps before he lets out a long sigh, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, “And I’m the one who’s supposed to cash it in.”

Yifan feels himself stagger backwards, foot making contact with the wall behind him and tripping him up. “You’re crazy,” he resolves; there’s no way someone wants to _kill_ him, he hasn’t even had anything to do with the Li family in almost two decades now.

A text that Yifan accidentally opened earlier today from his father’s operations manager flashes in his head: _Look, if you’re not going to come in, at least come back to the House where we can protect you during this transition. It’s not safe for you out there and your father tasked me with protecting you before he passed and I promised I would. I do not intend to break that promise._

“You’re all crazy,” Yifan repeats as he eyes the apartment front door. “ _You’re all fucking crazy_ ,” he yells before he storms out of the apartment.

~*~

Yixing presses his eyes closed tightly as the _bang_ of the front door slamming reverberates through every single one of his bones. His jaw clenches painfully as his fingernails dig into his palm through balled fists. He counts to ten before he opens them with a deep breath in and out. “What did you expect? A welcome party?” he mutters to himself in the frigidly empty room. He gives an involuntary shiver as he gets to his feet and pulls on his jacket before starting after his fiancé. He leaves his phone behind on the floor, still blinking with a dozen notifications of his employer demanding a report on the assignment despite the cracked screen from the force of his foot.

“No more lies,” he mutters to himself, shutting the door closed behind him and picking up his pace as he crosses the length of the hallway to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time and praying he hasn’t already lost Yifan, that someone hasn’t gotten to him yet.

~*~

Yifan stops running only when his breathing can’t keep up with his legs. He doubles over, trying to catch his breath as he nears a stop light. He looks around for a street sign that might indicate just how far he’s run only to have someone grab his arm from behind.

“Let _go_ of me!” he shouts, digging in his heels and trying to pull his arm back to himself when he realizes that it’s Yixing, “When the hell did you get this freakishly _strong?!_ ” he spits when he fails miserably at breaking free, his glasses sliding down his nose.

“No,” Yixing refuses, his hold growing tighter the harder Yifan struggles against it, “You’re running around defenseless right now. And I’ve always been stronger than you, I just never showed it.”

Yifan reaches for the nearest lamppost and hooks his free arm and his legs around it, wincing when his shoulder protests painfully against Yixing. “I’m still safer on my own. If I recall your confession properly, _you’re_ the one trying to kill me, remember?”

“ _I’m not trying to kill you!_ I am _trying_ to _keep_ you from being killed!” Yixing hisses, dropping Yifan’s hand when he realizes that the latter isn’t going to come easy.

Yifan glares at Yixing, limbs still wrapped around the pole. Before he gets a chance to decide if he believes the other, something zips past his ear and shatters the sidewalk in front of him.

~*~

“Shit, get _down_ ,” Yixing shouts, grabbing Yifan once more, confronted with less resistance once Yifan realizes that it was a _bullet_ that whizzed past him. “ _Move_ ,” Yixing instructs, though he realizes a split second later that he’s speaking on deaf ears; Yifan’s eyes remain large, clearly disorientated from the very real bullet lodged in the sidewalk in front of him. Yixing doesn’t bother trying to comfort the other; he doesn’t have the time. He has to find cover, and he needs to find it _now_. He positions himself to bear the majority of Yifan’s weight, pulling the other along as well as he can with their difference in heights until he finds a parked car to hide behind.

Another stray bullet sends the car’s glass window shattering down at them. Yixing makes a non-verbal apology to the owner of the vehicle they are currently using as a shield; in his experience, it’s not cheap to repair bullet damage to leather seats. Another shot hits the roof of the car and Yixing realizes that the shooter isn’t aiming to kill either of them. “He’s buying time for his partner,” he realizes bitterly.

Yixing ignores the _‘What?’_ that Yifan voices and eyes the sandwich shop across the sidewalk from where they are currently crouched, conflicted. He’s always liked this particular joint, having shared more than a couple meals with Yifan here. He hates to have it get shot up, but he really needs something better than a car for defense. He thanks whatever god there might be smiling down on them when he realizes that the car is parked next to a tree, the base of which is littered with the remains of an old (and shoddy by the looks of it) city landscaping job. He digs through the broken interlock tiles until he finds one that’s nearly whole, weighing it in his hand as he calculates his throw.

“What are you doing, Zhang Yixing?!” Yifan’s panicked voice shrieks from behind him as Yixing ducks involuntarily at another shot that isn’t meant to kill him when he creeps away from the car.

“Stay there,” Yixing commands, somewhat glad that Yifan has recovered from the initial shock of being shot at. He points back to the car when Yifan looks like he’s about to follow him.

Yifan glances from the stone in Yixing’s hand to the glass window on the sandwich shop. “You can’t be serious!”

“You got a better idea?” Yixing retorts as he takes his aim.

“Can’t you like… just shoot the guy that’s trying to kill us?”

Yixing can’t help the scowl when he turns to face Yifan, “You don’t like guns.”

“I’m starting to warm up to them right now.”

Yixing rolls his eyes, knowing that Yifan is only saying that now because he’s _reacting_ , not _thinking_. “Well, that’s too bad, because I left it in pieces back at our place. Besides, I don’t know where he’s shooting from.”

“What kind of shit assassin are you? Where would _you_ be?”

Yixing purses his lips, teeth grinding in his ears, “I know where he is,” he bites out, “but hell if I’m leaving you here to go take him out, okay?”

“Are you saying I’m holding you back? Because if that’s the case, why don’t you just fucking get on with it and kill me like you’re fucking supposed to?” Yifan spits, his eyes narrowing with barely contained rage.

Despite their current position, Yixing can’t help the grin that creeps onto his face as he studies the annoyed the look on Yifan’s face. There really isn’t anything funny about their predicament, but the fact that the two of them can still fight like they’re alone back in their apartment reminds him how much he loves Yifan.

“What the _hell_ is so funny?!”

Yixing can’t help the laugh that bubbles up through his throat, “You only swear when you get angry,” he explains only to mutter a ‘never mind’ when Yifan raises a perplexed eyebrow. He tells Yifan to turn away and cover his eyes, looses the rock and then immediately pulls back to crouch beside Yifan once more. The glass shatters and his ears are assaulted with the blaring horn of the restaurant’s anti burglar alarm. “Come on, get up,” he instructs, placing a hand under Yifan’s arm and pulling the latter to his feet. “Run!” he calls and drags Yifan alongside him before diving into the closest restaurant booth. “You okay?” he turns to ask Yifan once he’s decided that they are safe - for the time being anyway.

Yifan pushes away, still in a crouch underneath the table, “What do _you_ think?!” he accuses, barely audible over the alarm

Yixing doesn’t have time to answer the question, sure that it is only a matter of time before the sniper’s partner finds them in their makeshift hideout. He’s glad though, that Yifan is on the inside of the booth, even if he is glaring at Yixing as he pulls his legs to cross underneath himself. His glasses have been dropped in their transfer from the parked car, now lying amidst the pile of broken glass by the front door. “Come on,” he says instead, pointing towards the kitchen at the back. With any luck, he might find something useful in there; out here in the dining room, he and Yifan are just sitting ducks.

Yixing tries to give Yifan a gentle tug but Yifan refuses to move. With neither the patience nor the time to deal with his fiancé’s stubborn attitude, he uses a little more force and lifts Yifan to his feet before dragging him through the swinging kitchen door that separates it from the dining area.

Before Yixing can decide where best to start his search for a weapon, a voice shouts over the blaring, “Well, isn’t this a fine sight, everyone’s favourite, Lay, falling far from his place on top.”

Yixing freezes at the familiar voice before spitting out a string of expletives. Why did it have to be _him?_ He actually _liked_ Suho. Well, at least more than he liked the other attack dogs of the Huang family, which he supposed wasn’t saying much. “Down!” he hisses urgently under his breath at Yifan before he falls to a crouch himself, praying that the darkness of the restaurant has kept their position hidden, at least for now.

~*~

“Lay?” Yifan repeats as follows Yixing’s lead and settles on the floor next to a shelf of clean pots, “Who the hell is Lay?” he hisses at Yixing.

“You have two names too, don’t you?” Yixing shoots back before he moves to his knees and starts silently scouring the surface of the counter to find… _something._

“Hey, don’t you turn this back on me, alright? I changed my name to _avoid_ this,” he gestures around them.

Yixing snaps around from his search to glare at Yifan through the moonlight streaming in from a window. “Do you _really_ want to be having this conversation _now?_ With a trained assassin hunting us down on the other side of that wall?” Yixing shoots back with a snarl.

Yifan is about to remark on the tone (or the barely concealed growl, he hasn’t decided yet) when their impromptu argument is interrupted by the third voice again.

“You know, Lay. You’re not supposed to sleep with the enemy, though I think it’s supposed to be a figure of speech, not _literal_.”

“How long did you wait to use that one?” Yixing pipes up sarcastically from his position as he continues shuffling the length of the counter.

If Yifan wasn’t panicking before, he definitely is now. “ _What the hell are you doing?_ ” he whispers sharply, “I thought the point was to stay _hidden_!” Yifan doesn’t even care that his voice is cracking like he’s going through puberty again. He’s being held together by barely a hair and the fact that Yixing has just given away where they are hiding is not helping his panic.

‘ _Maybe he was just lying about trying to keep you safe. Maybe this is all some weird elaborate plan where he ends up killing you anyway.’_ Yifan groans at his own voice in his head; he’s already having a hard time keeping up with what’s happening in front of his eyes and he doesn’t need this anxious paranoia taking up his attention too.

“Ah, so he speaks,” the stranger laughs, “I get it. We all get a little lonely in this job sometimes but really? The Li’s only heir? You couldn’t just find yourself a hooker? I mean, I’ve got a number if you need.”

“You need to find the back door,” Yixing whispers in return, though it does nothing to answer the question Yifan asked (if anything, it’s raises more questions).

“What?” Yifan replies blankly, and watches as the other takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering closed, something he knows Yixing does whenever he is exasperated with his audience. “I’m not stupid, okay,” he growls, “It’s just that, unlike _some people_ , I am unfamiliar with breaking into restaurants, so forgive me if I’m not-”

“Lay? You still there, buddy?”

“Wu Yifan,” Yixing whispers, voice crisp with urgency, “All restaurants have a back door. I need you to find it and get out. I’ll hold him back. And you might hate it, but I need you to promise me that you’re going to go to your father’s house and get the protection you need. ” He raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response before raising his voice to address the third party, “Yeah, I’m still here. I was just trying to find my phone to put in that number.”

The unfamiliar voice laughs again, a hollow sound that sends shivers down Yifan’s spine even as he narrows his eyes at his fiancé, wondering if the latter is serious; perhaps Yifan was only a stepping stone to getting to Mr. Li. Yifan shakes the unwelcome thought out of his head, remind himself that there are currently bigger problems than his love life right now. “If there’s a back door, then why didn’t we just leave through it earlier?!”

“Aww, is the honeymoon over already? Look, if you just hand him over now, we can just go back to Master Huang and tell him this was all a big misunderstanding.”

“ _Because you were too busy freaking out!_ ” Yixing snaps, _“_ I didn’t realize Suho would be this quick!”

“‘Suho’?” Yifan repeats the name, tone accusatory when he realizes it belongs to the person on the other side of the wall, “You _know_ this guy?”

“Let’s be honest, Suho, if you were me and I had just fed you that same bullshit line, would you buy it?” Yixing calls out while simultaneously rolling his eyes at Yifan, dropping his voice down to a whisper to answer the latter’s question. “Really? Didn’t we go through this already? _This is not the time_.”

“Not the time?!” Yifan can feel his voice rising, annoyed at being treated like a child, “I could die in here! You could at least-”

“You’re not going to die in here!” Yixing hisses before he takes a deep breath and starts again, his voice low, as he places a hand on Yifan’s shoulder, as if it will comfort Yifan, “I won’t let it happen.”

“Ah, touché,” Suho’s voice rings, mixed with the sound of glass crunching underneath his foot, “You got me. Orders are to carry out what you failed to do and then capture you for… _re-education_ , I guess they call it.”

“Please just go? I need to know you’re safe.” Yixing pleads, pointing away from the front door again. “While that certainly sounds fun,” he yells, trying to keep his tone light, “Sadly though, I have to decline. I’ve got my own mission now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, kicking your ass. And then maybe grabbing a sandwich here. If you’re nice, I might give you a bite before I kill you. This place is _really_ good.”

Another hollow laugh echoes through the establishment and Yifan feels his fingers clench into fists on each side of him. “No,” he replies, steadfast even as Yixing turns to look at him quizzically.

“‘No’?” Yixing repeats blankly, “What do you mean ‘no’?!”

“I mean I’m not leaving you here to die with that psycho on the other side of that door!” Yifan explains as the sound of footsteps creeps closer. Yixing opens his mouth to object but then clamps it tightly shut again when the footsteps stop just on the other side of the now open kitchen door. Instead, he holds a finger up to his lips to signal for silence.

Yifan swallows hard when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck all rise in anticipation as he watches a leg step past the kitchen door from where he is crouched next to Yixing behind the stove.

“Time for the grand finale, Lay,” Suho voice echoes off the tiles, “You can’t hide forever.”

“No, I suppose not, Suho,” Yixing replies, closing his eyes and counting to ten under his breath before standing up quickly and launching the knife he must have found on his earlier scavenge.

A gunshot echoes off the kitchen walls only to be drowned out by Yifan’s own scream.

~*~

Yixing’s teeth grind together painfully as he turns to locate a clean kitchen towel, holding it to the hole in his shoulder. He’s not a stranger to pain and this injury is certainly non-life-threatening and he might not even have bothered for the towel if Yifan wasn’t making a horrified face at the moment.

“Are you okay?!” Yifan nearly shrieks next to him, hands held out in front of him awkwardly as if offering to help but not knowing how.

“Yeah,” Yixing answers simply as he steps towards the kitchen doorway where Suho lies, body still twitching slightly with the kitchen knife in his throat. He crouches and reaches for the gun lying on the floor where it was dropped, barrel still warm from the released shot. He takes a careful step around the body towards the mess of shattered glass and immediately locates Yifan’s glasses, noting that the left lens is cracked.

“Come on, we have to go,” he says as he gets to his feet, glasses in hand as he makes his way back to the kitchen. He makes sure to step into Yifan’s line of view before offering the lost item. “There are probably more coming.” _I’d almost be offended if this was all they sent after me_.

Yifan seems reluctant, looking through Yixing as he swallows hard, “Is he…?”

“No,” Yixing answers, glad that the lights in the building are still off. He’s being honest at least, Suho is _currently_ alive. “Now, come on,” he steps forward and uses his thumb and forefinger to physically draw the other’s attention away from the bloody scene, “Back door.”

“What about…?” Yifan starts, wincing as he points at the now blood-stained towel.

“I said I was fine,” Yixing holds his hand out for his fiancé, “Let’s go. I know somewhere we can lay low for a bit.”

~*~

“What are we doing at your office?” Yifan asks as he watches Yixing fumble with his keys in one hand.

“It’s not a real office, Yifan,” Yixing answers and Yifan can tell he is in pain by his tone.

The keys drop to the floor after the door opens and Yifan instinctively steps forward to catch Yixing as he stumbles through the threshold. “I got you,” he reassures before he remembers that he’s _angry_ at Yixing still. He clears his throat and lets go of his hold around Yixing, though making sure that the latter can stand on his own again. “Of course,” he realizes as he picks up the keys and hands them back to Yixing when he can’t figure out which one to use. “You’re not really the CEO of a small tech startup company, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I pay for people to just sit in cubicles and look busy most days,” Yixing explains as he hits a switch on the wall, bringing the lights to life with a soft flicker.

Yifan recognizes the layout of the office, having been here on more than a few occasions, but it seems empty now, without the employees (not real employees, he reminds himself). He supposed he really should have realized how this place seemed too neat to belong to an actual functional business. None of the now vacant cubicles had any personality, something he should have noticed long ago, but maybe something in him didn’t want to see it. “So… what are we doing here?” he asks again.

His question is answered when he follows Yixing into the kitchen where a much too clean coffee machine sits. Yixing opens the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a white case that he sets on the table before reaching into the freezer next to it and pulling out a half empty bottle. Yixing takes a seat in one of the chairs and deftly opens the latches on either side to reveal a litany of medical supplies inside.

Yixing pulls the bloodied towel away from his arm and tosses it into the sink beside him. He picks up the scissors and starts cutting the cloth around his shoulder, peeling it away from his skin. Unscrewing the lid off the bottle of whiskey between his legs, Yixing tosses the bottle cap aside and takes a long drink before pouring a healthy amount over his shoulder.

Yifan can see the muscles clench tightly in Yixing’s jaw and he flinches involuntarily at the thought of how it must feel to have alcohol make contact with the open wound. He swallows against the pressure building up into his throat at the sight of the amber fluid mixing with the almost-dried blood and running down Yixing’s arm in a dilute red-orange.

“Hand me those, will you? The silver one?” Yixing asks through gritted teeth, pointing at what he needs before taking another big gulp.

Yifan is still trying to figure out why he hasn’t already run away; Yixing hasn’t handcuffed them together or anything. And now that he thinks about it, Yixing never _forced_ Yifan to follow him or anything. Yifan just did, and though he knows he can very well just get up and leave, he picks up the forceps instead and hands them over.

“Can you grab me a cup too?” Yixing asks, glancing at the doors above the coffee maker before he picks up the forceps and positions them in front of his injury, taking a deep breath.

Yifan looks away the instant the metal enters Yixing, making an effort to focus on getting the requested cup instead of the loud hiss that slips from between Yixing’s lips behind him.

The sight of a misshapen piece of metal being pulled from Yixing’s arm and then deposited into the ceramic mug in Yifan’s hands as a fresh stream of blood leaks from the bullet hole is what finally pushes the bile into his mouth. The professor drops the mug on the table, sending it onto its side as he leaves the kitchen and finds the nearest bathroom.

Yifan slams the door behind him, the loud bang echoing in his ears as he empties his stomach into the toilet. The burn of bile in his throat makes his eyes tear and the bitter taste on his tongue brings about a second wave of nausea. He has to take a minute to breathe to make sure a third wave doesn’t follow before standing and grabbing a towel from the rack and wiping his mouth. “Ulgh,” he grumbles over the flush of the toilet and heads to the sink to wash his hands and face.

“Come on, Yifan, just breathe,” he tries to console himself to no avail, breath quickening instead of slowing. “Dammit!” he hisses, hand hitting the counter and shaking his glasses loose. He takes them off altogether and, glancing at the crack on the dirtied lens, he tosses them to the side, not bothering to pick them back up when they launch into the wall and bounce off, sliding across the counter and falling to the floor.  

Yifan presses his eyes closed and takes a deep breath, holding it for a count of ten, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he picked up this calming habit from a _killer_ pretending to be his _fiancé_. It takes him another three tries of the same process before his breathing steadies and his mouth no longer tastes as bitter.

“Okay, okay. Just… okay, focus. So what’s going on here? Mr. Li died two days ago and had his goons try to get me to take over the family business and somehow, that all ends with Xingxing becoming an assassin sent to kill me but he says he’s not going to and then people actually _do_ try to kill us and, and, and... _what the hell?!_ ”

Yifan’s breath quickens once more and it’s almost another minute before he regains his composure. “Let’s just…,” he stops, not sure how to end that thought, “Whatever,” he grumbles, running his shaking hands through his hair a last time before shutting the tap off. He hates how disheveled his reflection looks but he doesn’t dwell on it too much; bad hair is the least of his concerns right now.

Yifan returns to the kitchen to find Yixing slouching in his chair, his body slid so far down that he can rest his head on the back of it. There’s something dark on Yixing’s shoulder that Yifan can’t make out without his glasses and he assumes that Yixing has stitched his injury closed given that it looks like he is no longer bleeding. The opposite hand dangles at Yixing’s side, still loosely holding onto the bottle of whiskey as its owner stares at the ceiling.

“I’m really sorry,” Yixing vocalizes, his head rolling along the back of the chair until he’s facing Yifan. “I… nearly got you killed today,” he says, barely above a whisper. Something glistens against Yixing’s skin and Yifan’s chest tightens when he realizes that his fiancé is crying.

Yifan is about to say that it’s fine, that Yixing has nothing to apologize for but he can’t because he’s _not_ fine. Instead, he just crosses his arms and stands in place.

Yixing smiles and turns to stare at the ceiling again, “You’re mad. Of course you’re mad, why wouldn’t you be? Your fiancé is a lying piece of shit,” he laughs, choking on something invisible. “I’m probably going to pass out now, just so you know. Adrenaline cleaning out of the system, I suppose. Or the whiskey. Or both,” Yixing turns to face Yifan again with a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes. “If I wake up and you’re not here, I understand. But for what it’s worth, I really did love you.” He blinks a couple of times, slowly, before his eyelids stay closed, the bottle of whiskey slipping through his fingers and teetering on the floor before it settles, standing upright.

A crease forms on Yifan’s forehead as he asks himself again why he is still here but he supposes he already answered that question hours ago when he followed Yixing into the sandwich place. He might’ve been able to explain _that_ with the desire to stay alive, his survival instincts, but after that Suho or whatever his name is was dealt with, Yifan could’ve simply parted ways with Yixing, headed to his father’s mansion to seek protection. Instead, he’d chosen to stay with Yixing. And he realizes now that he always picks (and will continue to pick) Yixing when given the choice.

Yifan lets out a long and defeated sigh as he finally steps forward, hand coming up to wipe the drying line of tears on Yixing’s face. This close, even without his glasses, Yifan can clearly see the suture holding the bullet wound closed and he has to breathe slow and deep to calm his stomach. He turns to the mess on the table and digs through the box for a decent sized bandage, opening the package and pressing it gently in place over the flesh. Yixing stirs a little from the contact, shifting in his seat but settling into a deep sleep once more.

Yifan sighs as he rounds to the other side of his fiancé, picking up the abandoned bottle of whiskey and parking another chair in its place. He knocks back what’s left in the bottle and lets it clatter in the sink before he seats himself next to Yixing. From this side, it looks as if nothing has changed; Yixing could be back from a long business trip with Yifan coming home late from the campus to find the former asleep in a chair back in their apartment. The only difference now is that Yifan knows what that ‘business’ is.

Yifan lets out another long sigh before he reaches up to Yixing’s head and draws it towards him until he feels the weight on his arm. The motion is apparently enough to rouse Yixing and he looks up at Yifan, eyes half lidded with evident exhaustion. “You’re still here,” he says, voice flat but full of disbelief. “You’re not… upset with me?”

Yifan raises an eyebrow at the question, “Of course I am, you said _did_ ,” he explains, barely holding back his smile when it seems to confuse Yixing. “You said you really _did_ love me,” Yifan elaborates, “When’d you stop?”

Yifan’s dry lips crack into a smile, “Never,” he answers resolutely, “But I meant… you know… all the other stuff...”

“Mmm,” Yifan acknowledges, turning to stare absently at the coffee machine, “Well, once the Li’s find themselves a proper successor, I probably won’t be a target any more, right? And until then, I’ll just have to stick with you, I guess.” He turns back to Yixing who’s already gradually fading back into unconsciousness, and Yifan’s unsure if the other even heard what he said. “We’ll figure it out when you wake up, okay?”

Yixing barely gives a hum of acknowledgement before his eyes fall closed and he’s asleep again. The professor can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he watches Yixing’s chest rise and fall steadily. “For what it’s worth, I love you, too.”

  



End file.
